by Penny Birch
‘Me?’ I asked in shock.
‘Sure, why not?’
‘I … I’m five foot two for a start. Aren’t basketball players meant to be tall? Sport’s not really my thing, either, and never was. I used to get out of it any way I could at school, and I’ve never played basketball in my life. I’d just make a fool of myself! Besides, don’t you want younger women?’
‘You’re younger than Melody, and you’re in great shape.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Sure you are, don’t put yourself down. We’ve got a while to train anyhow, so at least say you’ll be in the reserve?’
‘How many girls are there?’
‘Eight, if I can include you.’
‘And how many in a team?’
‘You must know that!’ Jemima cut in. ‘Five, of course. She’s no good, Hudson …’
‘OK, I’ll go in the reserves,’ I volunteered, stung by Jemima’s open scorn.
‘Good girl,’ Hudson said. ‘This is my area, Hudson Street, Tribeca. I had to buy here, just for the address.’
We’d turned into a road lined with squat, solid buildings in red brick and grey-brown stone, apparently once warehouses but looking distinctly gentrified, with select shops and up-market cafés punctuating the apartment fronts. Hudson ordered the cab to stop outside a building somewhat more ornate than its neighbours and paid the driver as Jemima and I stood on the pavement gazing around us. There was even a doorman, perhaps ex-army, white-haired and smart in blue and gold livery, who hurried to take our bags.
‘Thank you, Kunstmann,’ Hudson remarked.
Jemima giggled at the man’s name and I found myself blushing, but he took no notice, touching his cap respectfully before he began to gather up our cases. Hudson looked well pleased with himself, smiling broadly as he held the door for us to enter the building, and to my surprise continuing the conversation more or less where he’d left off.
‘You’ll be OK,’ he assured me, ‘and hell, if you can be a piggy-girl you surely don’t mind being on a kinky basketball team?’
‘Oh, it’s not that,’ I assured him even as the blood rushed to my face, ‘but, um …’
I glanced at the doorman, who was standing at the lift with his back to us but could not possibly have failed to hear what Hudson had said. He’d probably never heard of piggy-girls, but I was sure that wouldn’t stop him imagining me on all fours in a mud puddle, stark naked except for my rubber snout and the curly tail bobbing over my bare bottom. Hudson merely laughed.
‘Don’t mind Kunstmann, he’s one of us. Aren’t you Kunstmann?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Kunstmann replied.
‘They can be a bit stuffy around here,’ Hudson explained as the lift doors slid open, ‘so I’ve cut a deal with Kunstmann to let the girls in at the back, not that’s it’s a problem with you two, but with some of them their parents don’t know, that sort of thing, and it pays to be discreet.’
‘I thought you said your girls were from the porn industry?’ I asked.
‘Oh no, that’s just how it started,’ he replied. ‘Nowadays they come in through the website, mainly, girls from rich families who have to keep proper but like a thrill, that’s the kind. It’s why we have masks.’
We’d gone up remarkably fast, and as the lift doors opened once more I was surprised to find myself in a richly carpeted lobby overlooking the roofs of the buildings opposite, with a stretch of water and the Statue of Liberty visible in the distance. There were only two doors leading off the lobby, marked Penthouse One and Two. Hudson crossed to the first and opened the door for Kunstmann, who took our cases in and left with a generous tip in his hand.
‘Great guy, Kunstmann,’ Hudson remarked as he shut the door. ‘As loyal as they come, and of course he knows which side his bread’s buttered. The girls take turns to give him blow-jobs.’
The remark was made absolutely casually, and might even have been a joke. There was no suggestion that we had to get involved, and yet for the first time I thought I saw a flicker of distaste cross Jemima’s face. I gave her a sympathetic look, wondering if I might not have found a chink in her armour. Hudson took no notice, but offered to show us around.
His flat was impressively large, taking up half of the top floor, with views across Manhattan and in some directions beyond, although a great many far taller buildings surrounded us, giving the impression that we were still pretty much at street level. He began to point out various landmarks, but Jemima had already had her fill of the New York skyline and quickly interrupted.
‘Can I get into my outfit?’
‘Sure,’ he answered, ‘it’s through here, in the team room.’
He pushed open the door of one of the many rooms we’d not yet been into. It was halfway between a gym and a dressing room, with a polished wood floor, various exercise machines arranged around an open space, a row of lockers and four tables set against a huge mirror. Somebody had evidently been there, because there was a hint of perfume in the air and some of the make-up littered round had obviously been used recently.
‘Here we are,’ Hudson said, opening a locker, ‘made to measure.’
Jemima gave a squeal of delight and reached for the costume. The shorts and bra top were ordinary enough, merely vulgar, but the mask was bizarre, made up like the upper part of a rabbit’s face, with two huge ears sticking up from the top, erect for the first foot or so and then flopping forward. Stiff nylon whiskers stuck out on either side of an upturned nose, all yellow, as were the insides of the ears, while the rest of it was baby pink. All that was bad enough, but the blank eye-holes made it look positively sinister.
‘I don’t suppose any of them would fit me?’ I asked, praying the answer would be no.
‘I’ll get one made up,’ Hudson promised. ‘My tailor’s good. Jewish guy, can do anything your imagination can come up with.’
‘No, really, I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.’
‘It’s no trouble, and besides, you’re in the reserves, so you need an outfit.’
I shrugged, telling myself it was no worse than some of the costumes I’d been put in over the years, but not convinced. While we’d been talking Jemima had stripped off with record-breaking speed and was now pulling on her outfit. Even without the mask it looked like something drawn from some dirty old man’s fantasy, which of course it was. On top, the pink fur made it seem as if she had even less chest than usual, which somehow managed to make it look more obscene than had she been busty. The shorts were tiny, encasing her bottom and hips so snugly that the outline of her pussy showed at the front, while at least half her cheeks were spilling out on either side behind. Her tail was disproportionately large, a big yellow puffball sticking out above her bottom at a jaunty angle and bobbing as she moved.
Yellow socks and pink trainers completed the outfit, but there were two details Hudson hadn’t mentioned. The bra top had the word ‘Tribeca’ picked out in yellow across the breasts, while the shorts had ‘Tails’ on the back, worked in so that the letters followed the curves of the bottom, but that was just one more touch to the overall ghastliness of the thing. Far worse was the carefully sewn slit running from a few inches beneath the tail right round to the front, which was obviously designed to be pulled open for the insertion of a cock into the wearer’s body, or in this case a strap-on dildo.
She put the head on and the full appalling effect was revealed, although she was cooing in delight as she admired herself in the mirror, making her bunny nose wrinkle and sticking her bottom out to admire the way she filled her shorts and made her tail wiggle. It did look sexy, I had to admit that much, in a sort of vulgar, cutesy way, as if a Walt Disney cartoon had been redrawn by perverts, and Jemima’s girlish, athletic figure suited it as well as anything would. Wearing my own version was going to be unbearably humiliating.
‘Cute,’ Hudson declared, looking Jemima up and down. ‘Very cute.’
Jemima wiggled her bottom at him and he gave her a gentle slap.
> ‘Now get out of that and into the shower,’ he ordered. ‘You too, Penny. I’ll rustle up some lunch.’
I was a bit taken aback at being effectively ordered to shower with Jemima, but it was typical of the way Hudson behaved and as usual it was hard to take offence. He’d already shown me my room, which was next to theirs, but one of the other spare rooms had an en suite bathroom, so it was impossible not to feel a little put out as I undressed and set out fresh clothes.
Jemima was already in the shower, singing to herself as she soaped her body and moving aside to make space for me without a trace of self-consciousness. It was impossible not to admire her, with her slender body and perfect skin, and in other circumstances I might have been tempted to touch. As it was I kept my hands to myself, even when she bent to wash between her toes and the little round cheeks of her bottom pressed briefly against my hip.
I was left feeling both somewhat aroused and somewhat confused, unsure of my own reactions, for all that I’d spanked her at Morris’s parties more than once. That was different, somehow less intimate, with an audience to egg us on and other girls taking their turns. She seemed oblivious, chatting happily as she dried her feet with one leg up on the bed so that her pussy was open to me, and even spreading her cheeks in the mirror as she dabbed a little powder on to her bumhole.
Again I was tempted, this time to take her in my arms and lay her down on the bed, where I’d lick her to ecstasy before having her return the favour. I might even have done so, had I not been sure she would call for Hudson to join in, in which case I’d probably end up sucking on his balls while he fucked her or something. Not that I’d have minded so very much, but I suspected that if I gave in to anything like that my last chance of preventing Jemima from disgracing herself would be gone.
I finished drying myself and went next door to dress. Hudson kept his flat very warm, so I threw on a summer dress over plain white panties and slipped my feet into sandals, content to change again if necessary. Hudson wasn’t in the dining room or the kitchen, but he’d put out a bagel with smoked salmon and cream cheese, clearly fresh. Jemima was nowhere to be seen either, but I ran them to earth in his study, where he was eating his bagel in front of a large flat-screen computer monitor and manipulating the mouse with his free hand. Jemima was perched on his lap, stark naked.
‘Let’s see what the opposition is up to,’ he was saying. ‘Oh, hi, Penny. Make yourself comfortable.’
There was a high chair to one side, which I pulled up so that I could see the screen. Hudson had gone to what was obviously the Brooklyn Bitches’ website, a welcome page showing a cartoon of a tall, athletic black girl in the act of leaping to put a basketball in the net. She looked the part, and it might have been a perfectly ordinary sporting website had it not been for her halter top, which was cut so that her breasts showed naked, and the way her skirt had risen to display her bare black bottom. There was some information too, but before I could read it Hudson had clicked on an internal link and a new page had come up. It was designed in blue and white like the first, but showed a number of thumbnails under the title ‘Training Failures’. Each one was of a girl being spanked, either by another girl or in one case a seedy-looking man with white hair and a dirty smirk on his face.
‘Buttman Bailey,’ Hudson explained, ‘and unless I’m very much mistaken that’s our very own Melody Rathwell over his lap. Let’s see.’
Jemima giggled as the video started to play, first showing Melody facing the camera and looking far from happy as she made an apology for her poor performance, apparently having netted only eight shots out of twenty. She was in her Bitches outfit, and as she turned she stuck out her bottom, causing her tiny skirt to lift and show off her full, black bottom cheeks, which she exposed completely as she tucked her skirt into its waistband. Buttman Bailey appeared and sat down on a chair, his knees extended to form a lap. Melody went surprisingly meekly, draping herself across his lap with her bottom lifted and holding her peace even when he pulled her cheeks apart to show off the jet black star of her anus and rich pink interior of her pussy to the camera.
‘She’s taking it very well,’ I said.
‘Buttman’s been spanking her since she was a teen,’ Hudson replied casually. ‘He and Morris go way back.’
I nodded, still surprised at Mel’s acquiescence to such a humiliating punishment, let alone on camera. He’d begun to spank her, his face split into a huge grin as he slapped her cheeks turn and turn about, all the while leaning out a little so that he could admire her bumhole and pussy while he punished her. She took it well, barely flinching even when he slipped a finger between her cheeks to tickle the black knot of her anal ring, but I could see the humiliation in her upside-down face, which was visible through her open legs.
The spanking wasn’t very long, or very hard, just enough to leave it firmly impressed on her mind that it had happened, which I know from long experience is often more than enough. When a man or a woman has spanked you, they have spanked you, and it can’t be undone even if you only submitted to a few swats on your clothing. It was rude too, and intimate exposure and touching during punishment can count for a lot.
‘That was great!’ Hudson declared, when he’d played the video clip a second time. ‘Let’s see who else got it.’
There were three other girls, two with honey-coloured skin and dark hair, presumably Hispanic, the third a leggy blonde, but in all three cases they went over the lap of a tall, powerfully built black girl who might very well have been the model for the cartoon on the front page. She spanked hard, and had picked up some habits from her coach, deliberately spreading the girls’ bottom cheeks to increase their humiliation before they were punished.
‘Shana Dodson,’ Hudson remarked. ‘Their captain.’
I nodded, imagining myself in the same humiliating position as the three girls, perhaps with my ridiculous bunny-tail shorts pulled open before a large strap-on was inserted up my pussy. The thought made me shiver.
‘I wish I could be spanked,’ Jemima said wistfully.
‘I’d be more than happy to oblige,’ I assured her.
‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ Hudson said immediately. ‘Not until she’s done her bit. On the other hand, Penny, there’s no reason you shouldn’t get your own tail reddened.’
‘That doesn’t seem very fair,’ I answered, my voice sulky despite my rising excitement.
‘How about a bit of practice then?’ he suggested. ‘Same way the Bitches do, twenty shots and if you get less than ten, over you go.’
‘What about Jemima?’ I protested.
‘Never mind Jemima,’ he answered me. ‘She’s sacred, for the moment.’
‘A little spanking won’t bruise her,’ I pointed out.
‘I want her fresh, and that’s that,’ he answered me, suddenly stern. ‘You, on the other hand, deserve it.’
‘What for?’
‘Luring her into a game of forfeits with Pippa and that crazy bitch AJ, for a start. Do you think I don’t know? And I had told you to keep your hands off her, so come on, and if you can do those shots, you get let off.’
What he was saying was outrageous, on the face of it, because he had no right whatsoever to punish me, but I was incapable of resistance and followed him meekly into the team room. He pulled down a basketball net where it was attached to the wall and gave me a ball. There was a spot marked on the floor, which he pointed to as he spoke.
‘Shoot from there, and watch out for the ceiling.’
I was completely and utterly useless, as I’d known I would be. Even without Jemima giggling and making sarcastic remarks I’d have been useless. Even without the prospect of a spanking if I failed I’d have been useless. As it was I hit the ceiling, the wall, and even managed to throw so far short that the ball hit the floor first, but I connected with the basket just six times out of twenty and got it through only once.
By the eleventh shot I was already due my spanking, but they made me carry on to the bitter end, when I h
ung my head in defeat as I turned to Hudson. Jemima was giggling and jumping and down in delight at the prospect of my punishment. She spoke up before the ball had even come to rest.
‘Let me do her, Hudson, please! I’ve always wanted to spank her, and she never lets me.’
‘I’m your aunt, Jemima!’ I pointed out.
‘Who cares?’ she answered. ‘Pippa spanks you, and anyway, you’re not my aunt, you’re my mum’s cousin.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Yeah, I think it might be fun,’ Hudson interrupted me, ‘but I don’t want to miss out, so let’s see.’
He took two of the chairs from the dressing tables, setting them out on the carpeted end of the room, face to face. I knew the formula, and waited, trying not to sulk as they sat down with their knees interlocked, making a broad lap for me. It looked odd, with Hudson and me so much older and fully dressed, while Jemima was stark naked, but that just made the fact that I was the one about to be spanked all the more humiliating.
‘Come on, over we go, Auntie Penny!’ Jemima taunted.
I went, tight-lipped and blushing with embarrassment as I laid myself in position across their legs, but unable to deny my soaring arousal. If I live to be a hundred I’ll never get over the embarrassment of a bare bottom spanking, but that has never stopped it turning me on, just the opposite.
‘Dress up!’ Jemima said happily, suiting action to words as she flipped my summer dress up on to my back.
‘Titties out, I think,’ Hudson added, tugging my dress higher still.
‘Oh yes!’ Jemima agreed. ‘I know she’s got no bra, the little slut.’
I was forced to lift my body to have my dress adjusted, but as my breasts were exposed I found it impossible not to respond to Jemima’s remark.
‘That’s rich coming from you when you’re running around stark naked, Jemima.’
‘Don’t be cheeky,’ she answered, and slapped me across the seat of my panties. ‘There, how does that feel, with your titties hanging out?’